Indivisible
by Obsidian Grey
Summary: The thing about the United States of America is that they aren't always united. (Inter-connected series of drabbles centering on American history. States 'Verse.)
1. Chapter 1

_Virginia, 1670_

The Land was scared.

The Land was _strong –_ incredibly strong, it was a requirement for survival in the harsh winters and unyielding land upon which the settlers lived and always had been and always would continue to be. The Land embodied the settlers, proud and strong with a will and spirit that simply refused to bend to any power.

But it was night, and there was a storm closing in with blowing wind and the promise of heavy rain. The Land was cold and alone, and the people cried "Witch!" whenever the Land passed within earshot. Access to shelter in any of the nearby towns was not an option. There was no house to turn to, no warm bed, no fire, no food.

"Hello, there."

The Land spun around, bare feet scuffing against the dirt, almost toppling over with the rapid movement. The boy was young, twelve or so, wearing nice clothes. His eyes were blue, hair blond and pulled back with a dark ribbon, and he was holding a horse by the reins. One of his hands was stretched out slightly, and the Land recoiled before he could draw near.

"Do not be afraid!" he said quickly. "There's no reason to be afraid. I'm like you. It's okay. I want to help you." The Land hesitated. The boy did not step back, but he lowered his hand. "What's your name?"

The Land stuck her chin out defiantly, drawing herself up as best she could, and there was that same pride and spirit of her people shining through her tiny form, the rags draped over her thin figure like the robes of a queen. "Virginia."

The boy smiled. Slowly, he held out his hand again, and the Land did not flinch away this time. She studied it for a moment, the tanned skin and the callouses on his fingers, how much _larger_ it was then her own small hands. His hands were _clean_. "My name is America. I have food back at my house. Would you like some? I have a place for you to sleep, too."

He sounded kind. He was smiling at her. The Land reached out and took America's hand, and it was warm. He helped her up into the saddle of the horse, then climbed up behind her. They rode quickly to escape the storm, and neither of them spoke until they were inside the stables. The Land toed at some straw on the floor while America removed the tack.

"Are there others like us?" she asked, thinking of what her people had said, colonies to the north and a few to the south.

America paused. "Yes," he finally said. "There are. There are nations, and then there are colonies, like you and me."

"Will I meet any of them?"

Her people had scorned her. Witch-child, beggar, thief. But if she met a nation, it would be an audience none of them could ever dream to have...!

"We'll see." America motioned for a servant to come and finish with the horse, then picked her up and carried her out of the stable and down the path toward the house. "Come, now, let's see what we can do about food."

* * *

 **I like history, and I like Hetalia, so let's have some American history Hetalia-style. This will be a series of inter-connected regarding U.S. history, America, and the states. It's probably going to wind up in chronological order for simplicity's sake. Due to school, exams, and a pending job over in the real world, updates will be sporadic.**

 **Hope you enjoyed!**


	2. Chapter 2

_April 30, 1775_

 _To my dearest brothers and sisters:_

 _\- -I am bedridden, and have been since the first shots were fired, though I find I have been moving about more often as of late, a turn of events which I am incredibly grateful for. I trust you know of the happenings concerning Concord and Lexington, the result of which has been the fervor of revolution embracing our colonies in its grasp, and I trust you also know of the siege about Boston, which has left me currently in the state I now find myself lying in – these things are the reasons I write to you to-night, and I hope you write back with the urgency I write to you._

* * *

It was a rather odd duo who rode on horseback through the New Jersey countryside. They were hardly more than children, a boy and a girl, their faces smudged with dirt and browned by the sun. Their horses carried a good deal of supplies, and so their pace was slow, but neither seemed to mind, content to walk in silence for a while.

"D'you suppose anyone's gonna listen?" the boy finally asked, and the girl snorted.

"I'd be there in a heartbeat if I weren't a girl and I weren't a kid," she replied dryly. "Pa 'ssentially ordered _you_ into Philadelphia. 's far's I know, Rogue's said the same. If New England isn't ans'ring a call t'arms for Massachusetts, there's no way in hell anyone else is gonna."

"What about Pa?"

"He still s'ports the Olive Branch. Enough said."

* * *

Early May. Virginia wished to be in the deep South again; her _home_ , a home that did not need to be disturbed by all these whispers of _revolution_ against their parent country. Not that England knew about them, but that was aside the point.

She missed her large house, the warm air, the fruit trees, the fine life of luxury she and her southern sisters had established for themselves. Yet, Pa had asked them to come to Philadelphia, and so in Philadelphia she was, living in a house with her southern sisters, a few of the northern colonies, and their father himself. New England was supposed to be arriving soon, which would bring their numbers to eleven.

"You shouldn't sit like that," South Carolina admonished. "It's unladylike."

The eldest colony, sprawled in a chair with her feet propped up on the railing of the small balcony, merely rolled her eyes. Borne of harsh winters and the constant, desperate struggle of survival, now populated by those rich men of high taste and high society, Virginia spent hours in the morning braiding her hair, which had grown far past her waist, and dressed in the clothes of a gentleman. She knew the value of hard work, but now that there was no longer a requirement for it she saw fit to avoid it at all costs. She was a walking contradiction, conservative ideals coupled with bits of forward thinking that made many shake their heads. "I sit how I like. Did you pay someone to send our letter?"

South Carolina wrinkled her nose and made a rather disgusted face. "Yes. Can you believe the nerve of him? He expects us to travel to Boston in the summertime to deal with his petty problems."

"We ought to be flattered," North Carolina added, coming up behind her younger twin and making the same expression. "He thinks we know how to shoot."

"I _do_ know how to shoot," Virginia replied, and frowned. "These problems belong in Boston, and there they shall stay until remedied."

The South had no desire to get caught up in the rabble-rousing activities of their northern brethren, and the South spoke as one.

* * *

Plymouth was a quiet town, all things considered. The people were polite, kind in a reserved sort of manner, and strict in their thoughts on religion. A breeze came in off the ocean and cooled down the heated summer days. There was a marketplace, a bustling trade industry, small houses built wherever there was room, so very unlike the sprawling plantations found to the south. One such house resided on the far edge of town, close to the harbor with a view of the docks – the inhabitants of the town, who would swear an oath that they did not participate in such activities such as gossip, theorized through scant information that the house was own by two young brothers, who inherited the property and a slave from the premature death of their father. They were good boys; cheerful folk and attended church every Sunday, though one of them was prone to illness.

Plymouth watched the house and its inhabitants and visitors, and wondered.

* * *

"You got the letter!"

They hadn't been able to get Massachusetts into Boston for obvious reasons, but Plymouth was his roots, and therefore Plymouth was the next best place for him to be. New York, for all his sarcasm and all the bickering which transpired between the two, cared for his brother and went with him; Georgia, estranged from her southern sisters, also went with. They managed well enough, though no one would pay a black girl for her work and so New York was out constantly to bring in money, but Pa sent in what he could when he could.

Still, the siege at Boston continued, dragging out between the days and weeks, and Massachusetts rarely left his chair by the window.

"I did," Rhode Island said with a lopsided grin and a nod, propping his musket up against the doorframe and following New York into the house. "Hey, didja know that m'rifle's bigger than me?"

New York ruffled his brother's hair, eliciting a flurry of handswatting and a curse. "Yes, you are terribly short. Sure they'll let you sign up?"

The smallest state let out a loud scoff. "I'm a Rhode Islander! Rogue's Island! Hell, I _am_ Rhode Island, though nobody don't know it. I'll get in, just you see. 'Sides, what kind of brother I'd be if I didn't help y'out when y'need it?"

They entered into the sitting room in time for the other two residents of the house to catch the end of their conversation, and the Colony of Massachusetts rolled his eyes.

"You'd be New York, that's what," he deadpanned from his chair. Georgia tutted at him reprovingly. "I've been trying to convince him to sign up so he'll leave me some peace and quiet, but he won't listen."

" _Our_ brother is being very kind in stayin' here," Georgia admonished, her thick accent feeling both alien and strangely comforting in its familiarity at the same time. "And considering some of those reactions you got, I'd say you should be more nice to 'im. Takin' an awfully big risk, Rhode Island."

Her words got a collective wince and a grimace.

Massachusetts had copied out thirteen versions of the same letter and sent them out; jokingly, he had handed two of them to New York and Georgia after he was done, the two sitting on the couch opposite.

The first replies had come from New England: New Hampshire was traveling to Philadelphia to join their father at the Continental Congress, and Connecticut was going with him. They both apologized profusely for not being able to do more but wrote of the militias getting sent out from their colonies and wished him luck. Rhode Island had initially said the same. The Middle Colonies, all girls save for New York and New Jersey, had responded in the negative. New York refused to leave Massachusetts; New Jersey was in the same boat as New Hampshire; the others were girls and did not know how to fire a gun, nor did they want to risk getting caught. The only difference between their letters and New England's letters was that the Middle Colonies' carried a hint of warning: they admonished Massachusetts rather harshly for his "rebelliousness" and made it clear that Pa didn't seem very happy.

The South didn't deign to send individual replies. There was a single letter written in Virginia's hand, very short, blunt, and to the point, curtly informing him that they had all been asked to join their family in Philadelphia at the Continental Congress and hoped to see their brothers there. No mention whatsoever was made of Georgia.

Their father had not said anything at all.

"He still kinda s'pported the Olive Branch Petition," Rhode Island explained, cramming another mouthful of bread into his mouth before speaking again. The four siblings were gathered in the sitting room for their meal, Massachusetts not having the strength to get to the dining room and refusing to let New York carry him there. "Doesn't want to fight much but he wants t' protect 'is people, y'know? An' protect _us_ , s'why the old Redcoat don't know about us. Got lots o' people disagree'n 'bout everything 'n all. Hasn't seen how Pat's here's doin', either, or he'd prob'ly change his mind. Heard those boys up at Boston need all the help they can get."

"Did you tell Pa you were going?" Georgia asked.

"Yes, what did he have to say about it?" New York prompted curiously.

Rhode Island's smile became slightly fixed. "Be happy you ain't in Philadelphia. Pa's stressed and they don't stop _arguing_ , dear Lord. I kinda left one night while they were all screamin'. Couldn't bear it."

"Come up with a more noble story later," Massachusetts advised, looking with bright eyes over the rim of his mug. There were a lot of things that could be said about the colony, but that he was lacking in spirit was decidedly not one of them. "This sounds like you were bored, and having nothing better to do, decided, 'oh, I guess I'll fight the British, that sounds fun'."

Rhode Island grinned back at him. "Aw, don't you worry, now. It'll be the best damn story y'ever heard!"

* * *

 **Bit of a time skip, but I found myself lacking in inspiration for most of the colonial years. Might go back and do something later, but anyway.**

 **Historical Notes:  
Lexington and Concord is considered the start of the American Revolution. A bit of miscommunication resulted in a lot of shooting, and the British marched in a strategic retreat back to Boston from the town of Concord. King George already having declared the colonies in rebellion some two months previous, American militia troops surged out of New England to surround the British in Boston for a siege lasting eleven months. This was, on the whole, Not Good for the city of Boston, as there was no good way to get supplies brought in and people were starved and riddled with diseases. The Olive Branch Petition was adopted in July of 1775 by the Second Continental Congress in a last-ditch attempt to make peace with Britain (it didn't work). Rhode Island is referred to as "Rogue" in the sixth paragraph; Rhode Island was often called Rogues' Island due to the fact that it was where all the religious dissenters and political dissenters (and dissenters of _those_ dissenters) got banished to. Cotton Mather also referred to it as the sewer of New England.**


End file.
